


Like Sunday Morning

by paradisecity



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-05
Updated: 2004-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradisecity/pseuds/paradisecity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't miss someone when you don't even know they're gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a timed challenge, using the following prompts: vacations and opposites.

The only thing Nick noticed at first was that Greg's hair was blond again.

Really, not much had changed without him around. It was quieter, perhaps, but that was the only difference. Hodges and Archie were just as proficient at their jobs as Greg was at his, and lately Nick had taken to giving them his evidence for processing anyway. He really didn't even notice Greg's absence until his coworkers commented on it and even then, it was quickly forgotten. And so if Nick hadn't really noticed that Greg had been gone, he couldn't really be expected to notice that he had returned.  
  
And he didn't, until he was standing beside Hodge's station listening to his complicated spiel about some simple cotton fibers when Greg walked in unexpectedly and turned his music up. Hodges glared, got up, and turned the music down, and Greg smirked and turned it back up. "I liked you better when you were gone," Hodges muttered, and Greg made a rude gesture that sent Hodges stomping out of the lab. But if Greg hadn't interrupted Nick getting his evidence, he wouldn't have noticed him at all.  
  
And that's why it was surprising that when Nick woke later that afternoon, sweaty and tangled in the sheets, the image of Greg _(limbs splayed gracelessly, shamelessly across their bed)_ was the last thing he remembered from his dream.  
  
He hadn't noticed Greg was gone, didn't care how his vacation _(surfing in San Francisco with old friends how good friends friends or lovers?)_ had been, and he'd stopped missing Greg a long time ago _(hadn't ever really all lies such lies)_ , if he'd ever even missed him in the first place.  
  
He tried to sleep again, because he still had a few hours before he had to be back at work, but once his was awake his mind went back to _(Greg)_ the case, mulling it over and searching for the piece they were overlooking, the piece that would tie it all together and give the girl's family some closure.  
  
She'd been cold when they found her, frozen _(not like Greg it was hot in California but a different kind of heat not desert but sea and what did the wind smell like with salt in the air and how did it taste and feel cool water on sun-heated skin and sand clinging to your body but there's always time for one more just one more never too late not with the waves rolling endlessly)_ so perfectly and for a moment she looked so lifelike that Nick was almost afraid to touch her. It bothered Nick that there hadn't been a struggle, no bruises _(on Greg's pale skin it was darker from the sun he'd noticed not pale but brown it looked like it would still be warm if he touched it and did he have other marks under his clothes the bruises he liked so much and Nick still remembered when he'd caught Greg in the bathroom mirror when he thought Nick was still asleep cataloging his bruises "large contusion on the left hip faded probably a few days old looks like fingers a grip maybe" and he'd blushed so guiltily running a hand through his hair when he ducked his head and smiled avoiding Nick's gaze)_  
  
And his hair was blond again, too. With just a tinge of green, and that meant he'd probably done it as soon as he'd gotten there, a week's worth of saltwater making it slightly off color. Did he do it because he missed it? Because it was how his friends remembered him? Did it say something about being away from the lab, away from Vegas, away from Nick, to a place where felt more free? More like himself? Did he feel more like himself in California? Did he call it home or was that Vegas? For a while it had been Nick's house, their home, but that hadn't lasted long and he wondered if it had lasted long enough for Greg to still think about it or if he just left it behind him and moved on the way he seemed to do with everything else.  
  
So easy for him; it had always been easy. Easy to say "Breakfast on me?", easy to let Nick push him up against his own front door and kiss him, easy to press himself back against Nick and gasp for more, easy to leave his toothbrush and then his clothes behind at Nick's, easy to get used to sports on TV on the weekends and dates far out of town on days off. Easy to understand what Nick meant when he'd stuttered "No, you...I want...I want you to," easy to take what Nick was offering with such care, without making him feel vulnerable or anxious or less of a man.  
  
Easy, even to pack up his things into surprisingly few boxes and thank Nick for a nice ride while it lasted without a trace of regret, easy to go back to the way things were like nothing worth noticing had ever really happened.  
  
Nick sighed, whipping the sheets off in frustration, jaw clenched as he tried to figure out how he'd landed up thinking about Greg when he should've been thinking about the Collins girl's murder. He hadn't noticed all those things; he knows he didn't because he didn't even look at Greg long enough to notice anything but the shock of blond on his head and some days, he really hated being so good at his job.  
  
Hated it, because that meant it was easy to see when someone was happy. Happier, even, than they'd ever been with him.


End file.
